The Only Englishman
by Kang Xiu
Summary: The Indy picks up a strange man floating in the ocean, and things get stranger from there.


The Only Englishman

Sir Edward Pellew had long been of the private opinion that his ship was one of the greatest in the world.

It was an idle pride, and he would not have admitted it to anyone, but the fact remained that when he stood on the deck of his Indefatigable and looked over the sea and knew how many years he'd been standing there looking over, he felt a great surge of love. She would last. He had seen other captains lose their ships; he had seen those men at their trials; but he would never be one of them.

He was standing on the upper deck of the Indy, quietly feeling that love as he surveyed the masts and listened to the whitecaps making a soft lp, lp noise as they burst against the prow, when he heard a man shouting. From the pitch of the voice, he guessed it was Lieutenant Hornblower.

"Man overboard! /Man overboard/!"

Sir Edward turned quickly and looked into the sea, curling his fingers around the ship's rail. Even as he searched, he felt the smooth wood touching his hands and was pleased by the feeling. She was a good, sturdy ship-- ah! There was the body, now surfacing, now being covered with water.

Hornblower was acting with admirable speed. A boat already had picked the body up, and the men on the ship were reaching out and pulling it up onto the deck.

"Get him aboard, there, you! Get him up! Is he breathing?"

Someone laid the body out on the deck, and Sir Edward, who was making his way as quickly as was dignified, observed that it was that of a man. The man was evidently nearing forty; heavily bearded, with darkish skin, he had an angry look around the corners of his eyes. He was dressed in wet, purple material that didn't look quite like cloth, and his body was covered with ropes, which one of the crew was rapidly disentangling.

Hornblower looked up as Sir Edward approached. "He's alive, sir."

"Yes? Well, take him below, Mr. Hornblower! Get him into dry clothes and see that he's warm."

"Aye, aye, sir!"

The man was carried below.

Silently and intently, Sir Edward looked at the pile of wet ropes, and then, raising his voice, ordered, "Mr. Kennedy, get this cleared away."

Acting Lieutenant Kennedy obeyed.

The next morning, Sir Edward was disturbed very early by hurried knocking on his cabin door. He'd slept badly the night before and was reading in his smoking jacket when he heard the knocking. Abruptly he shut the book and stood.

"Come in."

His steward opened the door to reveal Lieutenant Hornblower, who made first a respectful inclination of his head, and then an apologetic grimace. "Sir, it's the man we pulled from the sea. He's awake, and he's angry."

"Mmm? Angry? Yes?" The trouble with the young Lieutenant was that he didn't always fully explain. Sir Edward glowered impatiently.

"Well, sir, we put him in the spare quarters, and he wasn't locked in his cabin, of course, and this morning while Mr. Bowles was on watch, he came up on deck, asking to know where he was. Mr. Bowles obliged by telling him, and he, er, he flew into a rage, sir. I believe he may have returned to his quarters, but he objects to the clothes lent him, and to being on a British ship, sir," said Hornblower, rocking a little on the balls of his feet.

"Yes, all right," said Sir Edward sharply. "I'll be up in a moment, Mr. Hornblower."

Hornblower nodded, made a quick bow, and left. Sir Edward changed into his blue uniform jacket and went up on deck.

Who was the man? What gave him the audacity to resent being on a British ship when the British ship had picked him up? The wild beard, the dusky skin, the ropes... Not African... Indian. He was an Indian. But in that case, what was he doing here? Furthermore, the Indian people didn't dress like that.

The man was still standing on the deck, and whipped around when Sir Edward came up. He had been looking out over the ocean a moment before. Sir Edward recognised his own habit and frowned.

"Ah!" the man said softly, uttering just that one syllable.

"Well, sir, I understand you have objection--"

"Yes, I have. I demand to be put off this ship immediately. I have no affiliation with the British. I also demand that I be given back my clothes now." The angry look around the corners of the man's eyes was now quite obvious. His eyes themselves were fierce and dark, but his beard turned out not to be wild. It was just very long and curly, and nearly dignified. However, it made his face look fiercer.

"As to being put off this ship, it's impossible until we reach some British port, so I'm afraid there's very little to be done about that. As to your clothes, Mr.--?"

The man looked at him darkly. "I am no one. What has been done with my clothes? I will not wear--"

"I regret to say I have no idea what has happened to your clothes. Er--" Sir Edward turned and found Hornblower. "Mr. Hornblower, what has been done with the gentleman's clothes?"

"'Please, sir, they were wet, and the Steward has them. He's drying them. In the meantime--"

"I will wear them wet," the man interrupted.

"Sir, you will do no such thing," said Sir Edward. The fellow was annoying him. "It's a cold autumn, and I won't have consumption and influenza spread on my ship."

"--Autumn?" Suddenly, the man froze.

"Indeed, sir, November fourth."

For once, the man seemed to have nothing to say. Then, after a pause, he said, "Ah. I see. Pardon me," and hurriedly went belowdecks.

Sir Edward glowered. "See to it that he continues to wear those clothes, and give him regular meals, just like everyone else. If he makes any more trouble, send him to me." And I shall try to get him to explain himself, he thought bad-temperedly. Thus far, the man's anger was quiet, but it wouldn't be all that difficult for him to become violent. A close watch would be kept.

.....

The man was good enough to stay below without causing a disturbance until that afternoon, when they became engaged with a French frigate. The sound of cannon-fire roused him, and he came up on deck.

"What are you doing?" he cried, running to where Sir Edward was standing with his hands again on the familiar, fine rail.

"Sir, we are firing on that ship, there."

"Why? Whose ship is she?"

Sir Edward looked at the man for a moment, utterly confused, before saying, "She's a French ship."

"You are at war with France?"

"That seems clear, doesn't it?" he said impatiently. Couldn't Lieutenant Hornblower get those men to fire any faster?

"Why?"

"I beg your pardon? --Mr Hornblower!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" Hornblower called back, and immediately began ordering the men to look lively. Sir Edward had a moment of satisfaction. Clever boy.

"Why are you at war with France?"

"Because their damn 'revolutionary government' declared war on us, sir, after murdering their king and taking over the country."

The man was silent. At last he said, "I see," in the same tone he'd used the day before on hearing it was autumn. Then he turned and went below again, as Sir Edward gave orders to board the frigate.

There was a celebratory supper in the evening due to the successful capture of the French ship, but the man declined the invitation offered him.

.....

That night, Sir Edward was woken by a gentle tapping on the door of his cabin. He got out of his hammock tiredly, and opened the door. "Yes, what is it?"

The man was standing there. "I have something I must tell you."

"Well?"

"I have no love of the British."

"You've made that rather clear." He received another dark look from the man.

"But I must tell you something."

"Yes?"

"May I come in?"

"Yes, yes, come in." Sir Edward shut the door behind him. The man entered with the dignity of one who would rather not be where he is but who will do his utmost to prove he can retain his pride anyway.

"When you and your men took me from the ocean, I was wrapped in ropes, was I not?"

"You were."

"I had lashed myself to my vessel as she entered a maelstrom. The ropes weren't strong enough."

"I see," said Sir Edward. But he realised that this man must, in that case, be one of those broken captains who had lost their ships, the way he'd sworn he never would. Perhaps that explained his anger, though not his reluctance to stay on a British ship. If he didn't want to face a court-martial in his own country, he was better off on the Indy. But perhaps, where the man came from, they thought the shame and the loss were punishment enough.

"But, you understand, that was in June."

"What?"

"Yes," said the man musingly, "June. I couldn't have drifted in the sea until November."

"I agree that seems improbable."

"Is it 1793?"

"Ninety-five."

The man's forehead creased gently. "Strange."

"Perhaps you suffered a loss of memory due to shock?" Sir Edward suggested, smothering a yawn.

"That is--very unlikely."

"Very well... Is that what you wanted to tell me?"

"Not quite. I request to be put off at an Indian port."

"Yes. I'm afraid I can't do that. You'll have to stay on board until we reach England, and then find passage back to India."

"I've already explained that I have an objection--"

"Well, sir, at time present I cannot see that there is anything to be done about it, but your situation is acknowledged." Sir Edward looked at him tiredly. "I shall make arrangements that only the Irishmen in the crew speak or have any sort of interactions with you. Is that satisfactory?"

The man positively glowed with anger. "Captain Pellew," he said, in a steady, quietly furious voice, "I will not stand for being mocked by an Englishman. I request an apology."

"You have it. What I said was uncalled for." And I already regret it, Sir Edward thought. Exhausting fellow.

"Thank you, Captain. Now I will take my leave."

"Very well, but before you do, will you do me the honour of telling me who the deuce you are?"

The man said softly, "The Empire's nightmare. My name is Nemo," and closed the door silently behind him as he went out.

Sir Edward, much taken aback, stuck his head out of his cabin long enough to call over a marine and tell him to "keep a close watch on our guest," and went immediately back to his hammock. He didn't fall asleep for another hour and a half. Nightmare indeed!

.....  
  
After speaking with the Captain, Nemo returned thoughtfully to his cabin and lay down in his hammock. The swinging felt unnatural, but he wasn't paying great heed to it.

1795. 1795.

When the Nautilus went down into the maelstrom, the year was 1868. This was quite frankly insane. One did not get swished around in a whirlpool for twenty-four hours and then end up seventy-two years and eight months in the past.

And where was the Nautilus? For a moment, he was anxious. She would have survived the maelstrom; there was no question as to that. But where was she now? Would she drift in one spot, waiting for him to return? Obviously, Janthinus would take command--would he move her on and continue living the way they had before? Did the men believe their captain dead? Would they mourn for him the way he mourned them when they died? And the Frenchman--Aronnax--had he escaped and survived? Would he tell the world about Nemo, when what he wanted was seclusion?

But the thought which was most important, and which he kept coming back to, was How would he get back to the Nautilus? How would he get off this damned British ship and back to his home?

He had asked to be put off at an Indian port, and the Captain had told him he would instead have to find passage from Britain. Well, that could be managed--perhaps. He had no money to pay for his passage. But assuming he could get to India. What would he do there? He could find a sloop or a cutter and sail to Norway, to the maelstrom-- Nemo nearly laughed at the absurdity.

For that, he would need money to buy the craft. He would need to know how to sail it, to manage the sails and the rigging. He would need to buy supplies for the journey. And in all likelihood, it wouldn't work, and he would be drowned in a maelstrom seventy-three years from his home. He believed in some kinds of magic, but he was sceptical of ports through time, and even supposing that he had gone through one, chances were small it would work both ways. No, he must find some other solution.

Perhaps he would have to begin over again. Perhaps he would have to find new men and a new island on which to rebuild Nautilus. He would live as he had before, but in a different time.

Highly unlikely.

In the meantime, he must stay on this ship and somehow retain his dignity and pride. He would stay out of the way of all the sailors and the officers, either in his quarters or on deck when it wasn't crowded. The sea pleased him the way humans did not.

Above all, he would remain quiet in an effort to be at least somewhat unnoticed.

.....

The next morning, Sir Edward was again roused early this time by his steward, this time on behalf of Acting Lieutenant Kennedy.

"It's that fellow, sir. He's objecting to his rations. He says that he doesn't wish to make trouble, but that he will not eat them." Kennedy widened his blue-grey eyes apologetically.

"He does, does he? Very well, Mr. Kennedy, send him down."

Kennedy saluted cheerfully and went out, leaving Sir Edward to wonder /what now/? What objection did the man have to his rations? Perhaps he was a Jew. Sir Edward frowned. They had rules about what they ate, didn't they? Or perhaps he was something else entirely--a Muslim, perhaps? But in any case, what was he doing, parading around calling himself 'The Empire's nightmare'?

"Well, sir?" he demanded, as Kennedy knocked and let the man--Nemo--in. Nemo's beard looked wilder and his eyes fiercer than ever.

"I should think this a very simple matter, Captain. I refuse to eat anything produced on land. Your lieutenant won't allow me my refusal."

"What do you mean, you refuse?"

"I mean that I refuse. I eat only things that come from the sea."

"The hell you do," said Sir Edward irritably.

Nemo ignored him. "I also wear only things from the sea, and to that end, I request my clothes."

"All right, you'll have your clothes."

"Thank you. But I wish to retain the right not to eat if I object to what is given me."

"Is it a matter of religious restrictions?"

"Yes," Nemo answered without hesitation.

"Very well, sir. You will not be given rations outside of water, and we shall see whether you starve before we reach Portsmouth."

"We shall, Captain." He nodded briefly with eyes angry as usual, and left.

Sir Edward sighed and berated himself inwardly. There was no use in saying sharp words to vent his frustration. He knew that, and shouldn't disregard it.

But, damn it, the entire situation was a mess.

And then, almost magically, it wasn't.

.....

The evening of the day after, as Sir Edward was standing on the deck and loving the sea and his ship, Nemo approached him. He was annoyed for a moment, as he foresaw the destruction of his complacent mood, but Nemo said, "Good evening," quietly.

After a few moments of silence, he continued, "Captain, I fear have been discourteous to you and your men the past three days."

"Yes?" said Sir Edward, hiding his surprise.

"Indeed. I wish to extend my apologies."

"Accepted, sir."

"Thank you. The sea is very beautiful, is she not?"

"She is, sir. She is."

Nemo was dressed in his odd purple clothes again, but Sir Edward observed that he did look more comfortable in them. His beard was still curling madly all over the place, but his eyes were not /quite/ as angry. As the waves continued to lp, lp, he turned to Sir Edward.

"I shall explain myself. I have not ceased to hate the British, but I cannot tell how long I shall be on this ship. I was brought up to have dignity, Captain, and there is nothing dignified in railing constantly against circumstances I cannot change, and so I wish to make the rest of this voyage as pleasant as possible for both of us, particularly as it was your men who rescued me. When I am off the ship, however, I hope it is clear that I will continue to take the stand I have previously."

Sir Edward almost smiled. "Mmhmm. Mmhmm." That long, rather convoluted statement of exemplary politeness meant, essentially, that Nemo had realised he wasn't winning the arguments he'd like to, and so he was going to stop for a while. Sir Edward was really quite pleased. "I understand you, sir. We can only hope for fair winds."

Nemo looked at him sideways.

"Indeed."

.....

The next few days were so uneventful that Sir Edward was finally able to get several good nights' sleep and even enjoy his suppers, which Nemo was cordially invited to.

The fellow had a tendency to glare a lot and not actually eat anything, but he made polite, uninteresting conversation in his accented voice, and, now Sir Edward could pay attention to it, he realised it was very pleasant. It had a slight foreign roll that appealed to him. So suppers were really quite enjoyable, now.

On the third day, he found Nemo on the deck again, looking wistfully into the sea and not seeming to notice anything else.

Sir Edward believed he understood that. He stood next to Nemo, with his hands neatly behind his back, and watched the waves coming up and then melting back into the sea, over and over and forever. At last Nemo straightened and saw him.

"Hello, Captain."

"Sir," said Sir Edward, nodding politely.

"The ocean does tend to draw one in, doesn't it? Sometimes, it almost seems as though one can watch it forever."

"I'm certain one can. I wanted to inform you--we will reach Portsmouth by to-morrow, and you'll be let off."

"Ah. Thank you."

"Will you be finding transport to India from there?" Sir Edward asked, feeling inquisitive.

"I hope to."

"If you'll pardon my asking, sir, is that where you came from? Will you be returning home?"

"No. India is not my home."

"Oh?"

"No longer. But I was born there. I often wonder how different it is now."

That was a strange way to phrase it, Sir Edward noticed. "I see. Will you be, er, happy to return?"

"No."

And there the conversation came to a halt. Finally, Nemo turned towards Sir Edward.

"I am very sorry for all of this, Captain."

"For what, sir?"

"Not all Englishmen are arrogant sons of whores," Nemo said, as thought Sir Edward ought to know this obscure fact. "You have not always treated me as I would like to be treated, but you have treated me as any other man. You have treated me as you would treat anyone doing what I did."

"Mm," said Sir Edward wisely. He couldn't think of any other reply to that statement, which was, apparently, a compliment.

Nemo looked back at the sea, quiet again. The wind was picking up and becoming strong, and Sir Edward shook his head slightly. Then he began to turn about, searching for Hornblower. The sails--

"Thank you, Captain."

"Sir?"

Nemo began to tilt his head in a respectful nod. "Thank you."

And, very cautiously, very carefully, seeming unsure of whether they ought to be doing it, Sir Edward Pellew of the Indefatigable and Captain Nemo of the Nautilus bowed deeply to one another.

"Well," said Sir Edward, in the pause that followed, "I'd best go see to it that--"

"Yes, certainly. Pardon me."

"Not at all. Will you do me the honour of joining me for supper?"

"Of course."

They didn't speak or see one another again until dinner, and Sir Edward found himself wondering if it was going to be deucedly awkward or if the bow had managed to sort things out a bit.

Apparently it had.

Nemo sat as he usually did, hands neatly in his lap. No place had been set for him at the table, as there was no point in doing so, and Sir Edward felt vaguely uncomfortable as he ate. One would, he thought, if one ate while one's companion didn't. One felt as though one's manners and habits were being closely monitored.

At last he sighed. "I suppose you really can't have even a bit of bread?"

"No."

"Damn."

"I regret it if I make you uncomfortable."

"Of course you don't."

"You know, I've sworn never to walk upon the land again. I wonder... How much do you think it will cost me to walk along the dock in search of a ship to take me--back to India?"

"It shouldn't cost you a thing."

"I suppose I ought to have put it better. How much of my dignity will it cost me? I must break my vows."

Sir Edward sighed again. "Well, I can't think what else you can do."

"Yes, of course. I was reflecting idly. Tell me--do you love your ship, Captain?"

Then Sir Edward thought about his presumptuous vanity, his fancy that his ship was one of the greatest in the world. He thought about the way he stood on the deck and heard the waves, and the way he'd seen Nemo doing the same thing. "Yes," he said softly. "I love my ship."

"I love mine, as well. A captain without a ship is something of a soulless man."

"Indeed."

"One almost wonders, at times, if heaven would be worth leaving one's ship for."

"Do you?"

"Occasionally," Nemo nodded, with a hint of a smile twisting through his beard. "Occasionally, I do."

.....

After supper, Nemo went back to his room quietly. He was tired, and his body fatigued from not eating for the last six days. That, however, mattered very little to him; he had kept his dignity.

He had already decided, when he spoke with the Captain about walking the dock at Portsmouth, that he would leave before the ship reached it. To set his feet on English soil--he knew what he would do and what he wouldn't. He knew that it would be demeaning to him and to all his men and to the Nautilus herself if he walked on England.

So he had decided that he never would.

In a way, he was sorry. The Captain was the only Englishman he had ever respected. Nemo supposed if there had been a few more days before the ship came to England, he might have been--he might have made a friend of the man before he left.

"The man". His name was Edward, wasn't it? Why should he not call him Edward?

But Nemo knew. A slight friendship was all very well, but proper names were too close. He would never see the man again. He would leave to-night, and he would never see the man again.

He knew very well. One couldn't drown a kitten after giving it a name. One couldn't forget someone after learning his name. If Nemo called him Edward, it would drive him mad for the rest of his life.

Even if Nemo didn't call him Edward, it might drive him mad. The only Englishman he had ever respected. The only enemy he had ever thought might make a friend. If things went as planned, they would be separated by seventy-three years or death.

There was no question about staying. He couldn't stay aboard the ship. He certainly couldn't have a house in England and visit with the Captain. That was absurd.

But all this conjecture was worthless. His first loyalty was to his ship. Not even for heaven was it worth leaving his Nautilus.

.....

The next morning, a few hours before the Indefatigable reached Portsmouth, Sir Edward was alerted to the fact that one of the ship's boats was missing, along with their passenger.

He nodded to Acting Lieutenant Kennedy, pointed out that as no provisions save a small measure of water had been taken, the man would die in a matter of days from lack of food and inability to row, that they needed to come in at Portsmouth to report to the Admiralty, and that they would therefore leave him to sea. Kennedy nodded back and went off, calling something to Hornblower.

Sir Edward went to his usual place and there he looked into the ocean. Somewhere out on the waves, a small ship's boat was bearing an inexplicable man who called himself Nemo farther and farther away from the only Englishman who had ever respected him.

The waves made their soft lp, lp noise as they burst against the prow, and Sir Edward Pellew thought he might be filled with sorrow if he didn't have his Indy.

When it came down to it, he loved her more than he would ever love anything else.


End file.
